Painting on location - not for wimps. A 'portable' easel
weighs around five tons fully laden, and has more hard
corners and sharp edges than a skip full of girders.
Nevertheless, I used it most days until lately. Just a
fortnight ago today I trekked out to a painting spot and found out that you can, indeed, paint while it's raining. Just not very well.
On the plus side, as a reward for sticking it out and braving
the elements, I was treated to some magical evening
sunlight, very dramatic clouds, and a double rainbow, and
all of a sudden I was inside a George Inness painting. Still
working on that in the studio.
I tend to carry my easel in one hand, rather than using the shoulder strap. Obviously, over time this will develop the strength in that arm in a disproportionate manner. I shall build one huge arm, so that I resemble a human fiddler crab. I'll wave it about at parties, in a threatening display. 'Behold my gianty arm! Behold!'
Anyway.
Still laid up with sciatica, quite possibly as a result of hefting that damned easel. The weather is fine, the fields are calling, and there are paintings I could begin. And I'm stuck at home nursing a sore butt.
The moral of this tale? Standing in a draughty lane for an hour to draw a pretty orchard can have consequences.
On the plus side, it's given me time to read. I ordered
'The Art of Landscape Painting in Oil Colour ' by Sir Alfred East from Amazon about
three weeks ago, but it's been taken hostage by brigands
en route. The good news is I just got an email from
Amazon's excellent customer service informing me that a
new copy has been sent first class.
Update: it arrived this morning, and turned out to be a skinny pamphlet with 29 pages of closely printed text and no illustrations. Which is why I just removed the affiliate link ad.
Update #2: I found a free PDF download online of the whole book, here.
Note to self: Never, ever buy a book until you've Googled the title and added the words 'free PDF download' to it.
Update: it arrived this morning, and turned out to be a skinny pamphlet with 29 pages of closely printed text and no illustrations. Which is why I just removed the affiliate link ad.
Update #2: I found a free PDF download online of the whole book, here.
Note to self: Never, ever buy a book until you've Googled the title and added the words 'free PDF download' to it.
The Line of Beauty
I remembered this phrase when I looked at my reference
shots of Hardwick park after I'd made a joiner out of them,
and noted the S-shaped curves naturally occurring
throughout, in the branches of the trees, and echoed in the
layout of the land. I don't know who landscaped Hardwick
park - perhaps it was Robert Smythson, the architect - but
they knew what they were doing.
Looking the phrase up on Google took me to Wikipedia,
and William Hogarth's 'The Analysis of Beauty':
'Prominent among his ideas of beauty was the theory of the
Line of Beauty; an S-shaped curved line (serpentine line)
that excited the attention of the viewer and evoked
liveliness and movement.'
Ready built in to the subject wherever you look - makes
painting in the park a little like shooting fish in a barrel.
I'm not going into Hogarth's ideas here, but the interested
reader can follow the Wikipedia link above to find out more.
I downloaded 'The Discourses of Sir Joshua Reynolds' too,
which puts me firmly in my place on the second lowest rung
as a painter of mere landscapes. On the other hand, this
and the Hogarth are fascinating insights into eighteenth
century opinion, which frankly seems both more thoughtful
and entertaining than current art writing.
What do I think is beautiful? I know it when I see it, but
giving any kind of pat definition is beyond me. I've
mentioned how I pick my subjects - I wander around until I
see something so visually affecting, in a positive way, that
it makes me want to paint it. I'm always saying, 'Wow,
that's pretty,' but I'm not sure pretty covers it.
Recognition is involved, somehow, but it's a slippery
concept, and one that you can't reverse engineer. The
component parts of beauty are separate from the things we
find beautiful, and are within us.
How's that for a soundbite
to hold the masses at bay while we quickly make our exit
before some bright spark realizes we were just spouting
nonsense?
I'm not equipped for deep thought, being a bear of little
brain, but I do know what's pretty, and that's good enough
for me. I'll leave the theorizing to those who have nothing
better to do.
